


The Last One Alive

by soliloque



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Felina
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-21 18:21:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1559702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soliloque/pseuds/soliloque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A changed Jesse emerges post Felina. Jesse is arrested to the thrill of national news. Saul catches word, and against his own better judgment, risks his anonymity to rescue Jesse, thereby getting himself once again involved with the Heisenberg drama.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Comment Note on 8-19-2016
> 
> Gosh, guys. I am so terribly sorry for leaving this fic in limbo. Terrible, terrible circumstances happened in my life, the least of which was about 50K worth of written words to this fic were wiped from my hard drive. That disheartened me. I am not the sort of person who likes to redo something that has already been done. I cannot say for certain if I will be able to rewrite this fic, but, if nothing else, I *will* try and continue this fic by taking it in another direction than it was originally intended. I am re-watching BrBa with my dying father and it has spurned a passion to write more for this series. I still love the show.
> 
> However, the show delves into situations that hit a tad too close to home for me. A friend overdosed in front of me and I'll never forget the sound of the heart monitor flat-lining while the paramedics tried to shock his heart back to a beat. I'll never forget the times he and I watched and loved BrBa together. May he rest in peace.

 

The cop leaned forward. “So, tell me, Jesse. What happened after Todd’s car broke down in the desert?”

Jesse looked away as he reflected. “I walked for a million miles it felt like. As many stars as I could see in the skies at night. It actually turned out that from the distance I was from my car, I couldn’t have been out there more than three days. But time felt different then. It slows way down.”

 

_  
The sky is the most incredible he’s ever seen it. He could pretend he was walking across the sky instead of dunes. Who needed Alaska when he could die to this sight?_

_He felt lost in golden dust. Sometimes that feeling of peace would fade out. He would choke with self-hatred. He would blame it all on him, his partner, his betrayer.  
_

 

Jesse scratched his beard. "It isn’t very often one gets to dehydrate and collapse in a desert somewhere. It’s trippy. You start hallucinating. You face your demons, because what else do you have? What else are you?”

 

_  
He was amnesiac. He had nothing. No plan. No name, no identity. He was just here._

_He would often feel hands caress his cheeks. Their forms shimmered vaguely in the sunlight, like he was halfway in another dimension, but he felt the maternal presence of his aunt, a compassionate Gale, an empathetic Jane._

_It wasn’t those hands that kept him going. It was the ones he felt during the cold nights._

_He was sure it was his hands. It happened during the nights, when the moonlight guided him. Every step, he thought of only him._

_He remembered the last look he saw from Walter. It wasn’t the nod. It wasn’t the conflict he saw in his partner’s final gaze that had Jesse captivated. It was something new in his eyes. It was something Jesse had come to recognize in himself in his imprisonment. It was acceptance. Not a sort of old weariness. It was a liberating acceptance. The beauty of it made Jesse weep to his knees, softened by the impact of sand.  
_

_Sometimes Jesse would curse him. What was left of his empire now? Crumbled to the dust Jesse was lost in. Left Jesse abandoned in its ruins._

 

Jesse looked at the cop. “You know, a madness and a clarity is there, in that state of mind. Or is there clarity in the madness?”

 

_  
The desert gradually felt more like a graveyard. He imagined he would come across the shapes of dead bodies. Half-eaten carcasses. He was dimly aware of vultures following him. In his growing madness, he wondered when his time would finally come._

_Jesse. Jesse. Your body is running dangerously low on electrolytes. Sodium, potassium, calcium. And when they're gone, your brain ceases to communicate with your muscles. Your lungs stop breathing, your heart stops pumping._

_Funny he could remember that with perfect clarity when he was dying. He kept walking._

_Some days Jesse felt like a ghost, and it was his sentence to forever walk the desert. It was heaven compared to what could be. Jesse felt rays of peace pierce his shadowed heart as he collapsed into the dust. Finally, he was overcome with freedom. He realized before his life had been such a prison. His entire life._

_It had always felt that way for Jane too, she seemed to be telling him now, her voice a whisper in his heart. His last three years have not been worthless. It took all that for him to understand...  
_

 

“I accept who I am now. I didn’t really before." Jesse looked down at his hands, but when he looked up, he looked earnestly at his interrogator. "I didn’t know better then. I’m the bad guy.”

_When Jesse came to, he was laying down on his back looking out the window across his cot. The sun’s sinking into the western sky. A buzzard caws distantly. He feels the calm stillness of this place. He has yet to wonder if he was alive or dead. He is too exhausted for thoughts. His heart is elsewhere, in a place of sadness and longing. I am alone. I do not miss you. No sorrow or pity for leaving you. You left me._

 

“Yeah, some days in the compound, my formula beat Mr. White’s best. It was a hollow victory. You know? Him not around to see that." Jesse looked down at the table and sniffed. "He did offer me my own lab station one time.”

“He did?”

Jesse nodded. “Yeah, when we were doing the Vámonos Pest op.” Jesse frowned. “By then I had decided to bail. Couldn’t take any more killing.” Jesse rubbed his nose. His eyes told secrets to the table. “It was all in the confession tape Jack's guys stole. You guys found that, right? Was anyone hurt?"

“It was just a break-in. No one was hurt. And yes, we did eventually find the tape. So tell me about your time in the Nazi compound."

“I learned there are things worse than death."

The cop raised his eyebrows in a display of fabricated sympathy. It was unnecessary, Jesse thought. It really wasn't such a bad revelation. 

Jesse looked down at his empty hands. "I need a cigarette first. Is that all right?”

“Okay, Jesse. After that we are going to have detective Edwards come in and talk with you.

“Thanks.”

\--

Saul watched the entire interrogation, pacing. The cops standing nearby were smirking, one had his thumb tucked smugly into his belt loops. Cocky that the infamous Saul Goodman had just lost the case. Not a whole lot of cops around here ever liked Saul. For a moment, Saul felt helpless over what he got himself into. He didn’t use to worry so much, but lately it had been a problem. It started ever since he had to ditch this town and start a new life. He didn't even manage to do that properly.

The door swung open with detective Coy stepping out, followed by a frail looking Jesse with eyes that were calm and exhausted. As if exhaustion caused him to snap and he stopped caring. Yet there was the distinct possibility that it was the calm that was sustaining him, not the other way around.

Saul looked at Jesse in weary bafflement.

“What?” They started to follow the escorting guard.

Saul waited till the cops were out of earshot. "Two words for you: Good job. And I say that sarcastically. You might’ve gotten yourself the insanity plea in there, except for the fact that you sounded like a cold blooded psychotic murderer.”

Jesse shrugged. “I only told the truth.”

“But Jesse that’s not what you are!” Saul was in high choler. _Right?_

Saul shook his head. He felt the compulsion to pinch the bridge of his nose. Suddenly taken, Saul whipped around and stopped Jesse in his tracks.

“I’m trying to save you so you can save me.” There was a plea in his desperate honesty. They both knew what Saul meant by saving. Saving them from prison. Because two lonely fellow bad guys with no one to live for but themselves understand that there are things worse than death.

Jesse blinked at him. “Oh, I guess I wasn’t thinking of it like that. Sorry, man.”

“Sorry man doesn’t fix things in the world, kid. It gets the world punching you in the face. How's that for philosophical, huh? Think you're Socrates or something with that irrational drivel in there? You know what that sounds like? Like a psycho justifying himself. That bit about madness and clarity,  _priceless._ " Saul laid the sarcasm thick. He threw his hands up in frustration. He ran a nervous one through his disarrayed hair.

Jesse rolled his eyes in and mouthed, "Wow."

Saul was mildly concerned with the stride Jesse seemed to be taking this in, but his mind was racing. 

“Look Jesse, this is not the place to tell your novel-worthy story. Maybe we can go with insanity here, say you still suffer from PTSD hallucinations. We could really play on the torture bit. Say Walter coerced you. I could have Huell as my witness. There’s Francesca too, if they're not really pissed at me. There’s also the incident of the poisoned kid being on file. You throwing bags of money away was a cry for help. Jesus Christ, kid. I thought the best I could do for you was get you in witness protection. Not a damn mental ward." 

Saul finally shut up, having realized his hopeless thinking out loud might be a tad insensitive.

Jesse elbowed his way to walk ahead of Saul. Letting it be known he did not want to hear all the details and that a cigarette was waiting for him.

“Listen, Jesse.” Saul ran up to catch up with him and leaned in close. “Listen, you are about to be interrogated by one of the best in the division. This guy is ace. If he doesn’t like the look in your eyes he will think you’re guilty.” A little lower, "just don't sign anything."

Jesse nodded, subdued. The guard escorted him away.

“We’ll talk!” Saul called out to him.

Saul’s heart felt like a wrench was twisting it as he watched them take Jesse away from him.


	2. In Just Deserts

Saul confessed that he was a foreigner in this state now. Not that Nebraska had been much better, but here, the desert sun bleached all the color out, giving the surroundings an apocalyptic overcast. Edges were sharper than he remembered. The press swarmed him like hungry road buzzards while he left the courthouse, poking him with pens and pointed shoes.

Strangers’ faces looked grim as Saul made his way down the few blocks to his car. The city’s mood reflected his sinking realization that he just might have gotten himself into bad news.

Saul slid into his rented Cadillac, muttering about the press taking up all the parking spots. At first glance, he thought the sign of the Asian laundromat he parked in front of read _Confess for sinning_ , but the sign actually read _Compress your linen._ The awkward Asian English played tricks on his conscience. He started driving.

_“Saul, you Irish clown. Never thought I’d see you here again.” Coy’s way of debriefing._

_“What, I don’t get a welcome back cigar?” Saul took a seat across the two detectives. He straightened his tie and smoothed his hair for the benefit of the camera. Saul wasn’t concerned with Coy, the oldest. Saul did favors for him in the past._

_Coy waved a dismissive hand at Saul. “Please. I was sick of your damn commercials.”_

_“Saul Goodman. A snake slithered out of the grass recently back into the just deserts.” Detective Edwards looked at him deadpanned._

_“I see there's a poet here.” Saul didn’t like this egg-headed pig. Edwards was new, younger, maybe late thirties. His hair was greying and his eyes were tired, but he was sharp. His confession rates were off the charts. You didn’t fuck around with this guy._

_Edwards gave Coy a look. Coy tilted his head in response._

_“Agent Schrader made a radio call to Agent Gomez saying that he was tailing Pinkman from your office.” Edwards pointed at a date on a paper. “What was Pinkman doing in your office on that day?”_

_“The last time I saw Pinkman is the day we had an altercation.”_

Saul made a pit stop for old time’s sake. The former strip mall, home of Saul Goodman & Associates, stood now as a renovated church. His old billboard sign, now the church’s sign, blared the words _Judgment Will Be Brought Upon Liars._ Words of doom advertised with neon lights racing around a track. A tribute to the persistent tackiness of the place. Profit was made off crime at this place, not too long ago. The irony would not go unappreciated.

 

_“What were you doing in Omaha?” Coy asked._

_“Engaging in philanthropy.”_

_“Philanthropy?”_

_“I consider myself a member of the community. A credit to society.”_

_“But in Omaha?”_

_“Call it early retirement.”_

Saul parked his car. Across the street was a fatiguing church, with a battered sign that read _Greed Is the Worst Sin_. Jesus, the signs of judgment were everywhere. Sure, Saul might’ve thought he could profit off this case, but he wanted to help the kid. Jesse got a bad deal. Saul still felt redeemable, even in this dust-cloaked filth of a town. First, he needed some proper suits.

A scuffle with the cops broke out across the street. Someone was going to jail. When the authorities get something hot like Jesse into custody, the cops get all riled up like horny dogs.

Saul dodged the corner and peered through the store window, waving. The door to McGill’s & McGill’s swung open.

“Saul, I haven’t seen you in a long time.” The owner greeted him pleasantly.

“I was out of state, incognito. Trying to avoid the exes, you know?”

“I wish I knew. Are you working on the Pinkman case? I was watching the news.”

“What have they been saying?”

 

_“Saul,” Coy began, “Judge Keenan won’t let you on this one given your implications to the case. Besides, Pinkman hasn’t yet asked for a lawyer.”_

_Saul felt like the judge’s gavel slammed into his gut. He kept Judge Keenan’s daughter out of jail once – a drug related misdemeanor and petty theft for Chrissakes._

_Edwards carefully lifted a few papers to uncover one. He pushed it forward. “Your Roth IRA’s and other retirement accounts were all wiped out on those dates. You strike me as a man who values his financial security, right? You’re pushing fifty and you were at your peak, career wise. You didn’t just leave state and change your name for nothing. It had something to do with your altercation with Pinkman. You knew he was onto something dangerous. You couldn’t go to the police.”_

_“My job came with occupational hazards...”_

 

Saul renounced the flashy colors for more somber shades, suits that reminded him of dreary courtroom intonations -- things that made him shudder. He picked up a vivid blue tie. It reminded him of the kid’s eyes that were potent in the way they stole the force of gravity, defying laws Saul wouldn’t dare. The laws Saul broke were minor in comparison, and could get him in a hell of a lot more trouble.

“You still carry benzos?” Saul tossed the tie on the counter, defeated.

“Yeah, been on edge lately?”

Saul laughed dryly. “Maybe. The two homicide detectives for the two DEA murders are working Pinkman and are trying to get me involved in it. Not sure why. I think one of them wants something more though. I don’t think Pinkman is even involved in it, but the kid won’t just shut his mouth.”

“Sounds like you need the blue pills.” The owner went to the back of the store.

As far as drug deals went, Saul thought this was a respectable one. He didn’t exactly do this sort of thing often, but Saul felt edgy ever since he uprooted from his previous cushy life. Sure, it wasn’t exactly stable, but nothing like the sort of devastation wrought by the meth duo, and insurance won’t exactly cover that sort of thing.

_Edwards could drone with little emotion. “It turns out the confession tape is damaged, but you were going to find that out soon enough. We know from what we could extract is that he was working for Gustavo Fring as a meth cook along with Walter White. What were you to them? Consigliere for high dollar drug dealing clients?”_

_“From what I saw, Jesse was a lost kid who got into trouble sometimes. I didn’t ask where he got his cash. As for Walter White, to me at the time, he was a man dying of cancer who wanted to buy a car wash with his gambling earnings.”_

_“Saul, why don’t you try and work with us here and tell us what you know Jesse was up to? Because we know he’s lying.” Coy took a bite of his yogurt._

_“Lying about what? Which bones the Nazi gang didn’t snap?”_

_Edwards looked at Saul with a renewed interest, like a bug to pin on the board and inspect. “We know you went to Judge Keenan to try and work out a bail deal for Pinkman, Saul. Who’s going to pay for his bail? As far as we know, you just up and flitted out of town like a frightened rabbit. Conveniently when two DEA officers disappear.”_

_“No, I didn’t abandon my practice, change my name, and hop-skipped to Nebraska for the tornados and the cinnabons.”_

_“Why come back then?”_

_“My altercation with Jesse was a major wakeup call that I might, potentially, be involved in a highly dangerous situation as a result of my association with Walter White, and so was Jesse.”_

_Edwards leaned forward. “No, there’s something more. I can tell you hate being back here, in the state. What is it that you think you’re guilty of?” He had to get all twisty inside the vulnerable part of Saul’s mind._

 

That all happened yesterday. Today was arraignment. Saul got out of his car. He made his way into the courthouse.

“Saul Goodman?”

A woman’s voice, sounding tender, familiar. Saul turned. He wasn’t prepared to see her. Skyler White fidgeted nervously, in a somewhat bouncy way. She smelled lingeringly of wine, cigarettes and perfume.

Saul cleared the lump in his throat. “Skyler. Long time.” He nervously smoothed his tie. He wasn’t sure what to make of this, if this could be another hitch in his operation. Saul suspected she could be as threatening as Walter, though certainly more enticing.

“How have you been, Saul?”

“As well as one can be-- post-Heisenberg.” Even if it felt more like post-apocalypse.

Saul wondered how Skyler had been doing, if investigations still hounded her. “You?”

“Okay. Just okay.” Skyler gave Saul a long look. “Um...” She bit her lip. “Listen, Saul. Can we talk?”

“Okay.”

“Are you available sometime soon?”

Saul hesitated. “Sure.”

“Ok.” Skyler reached into her purse. Objections shouted in Saul’s head. What would this lead to? It was a number pre-scribbled on a matchbook from a bar, which Saul pockets. “I’ll give you a call soon.”

Saul started walking towards the courthouse. Skyler turns around, her heels catching up at a swished pace. As they walked together neither one of them said a word. Taut silence stretched in the closed space between them.

They sat together inside the courtroom, where the tension in the air could split atoms.

Saul sat in the back with Skyler, purveying the scene. The kid looked all right, well, okay, physically he looked like shit, but Saul could give him some credit. Saul pondered the presence of Detective Edwards sans Coy. He watched Jesse give his statement, an utterance of illicit advice from Saul who hoped that forever remained a secret between them.

Earlier that morning, Saul already was summoned into Judge Keenan’s quarters like a kid in trouble. Normally he wouldn’t mind, she was hot, but she had been a harbinger of bad news lately. She said that he was not allowed to provide any legal advice while his investigations are pending, and certainly, not ever allowed to give nor provide legal advice for Jesse, who will be appointed his own lawyer at his request.

Jesse was charged with the manufacturing of methamphetamine and the voluntary manslaughter of Todd Alquist, and that raised more questions than Saul cared for. He got bail, with ankle jewelry. Part miracle, part what Saul expected, yet to the tune of a small fortune. Saul knew he was footing the bill and he felt affronted; the Eighth Amendment just another bunch of empty transcriptions. Judge Keenan was so not cool with him anymore.

Saul was in the grungy cashier office where rock bottom was a pit of despair disguised in peeling paint on the walls. Worse than a crack house. At least there, you might get your money’s worth. The clerk stared at him as if he was some kind of obnoxious prick as he clarified his rights to anonymous bail. His body stiffed and jerked as he forced it into the motions of a simple cash transaction. Maybe Saul was being melodramatic, but the signature of his old name, or his new name – he wasn’t sure yet – didn’t look quite settled on that paper.

Back at the courthouse, the judge was not through with him, apparently. Said Edwards agreed he was not a high flight risk and potentially unsafe behind bars. She could not see the logic in shelling the expenses of witness protection. Contacted the parents; they won’t accept him. She strongly advised Saul that he should take custody of him, but that he would have no part in the case or he would face disbarment.

“I’m only doing this because you scratched my back once.” Judge Keenan gave him a searing look while she handed him the custody conditions. Okay, so the collection basket does come around the corrupted side of the pews. Justice prevails.

Edwards addressed Saul as he left the office. “You need to learn to swallow before you can spit.”

Saul shrugged at him as he walked away. He heard Edwards liked to pick fights, an insubordinate nightmare. Saul wasn’t worried about Edwards. Not now, not yet, maybe never. A different paranoia was blooming. Saul recounted past images of a Jesse at the height of fury waving a gun in his face. An unpredictable Jesse, someone who has been under the thumb of powerful kingpins for too long and was capable of his own brand of deception or insanity. There’s bail at stake. His money. On second thought, he'd rather his investment stay tucked safely away behind bars.

Saul greeted Jesse wearily at the release point. Jesse looked like a battered alley bum who had just weathered another cold night.

“Jesse.” Saul nodded.

“Saul.” Jesse looked at him heavily.

“I’m, uh, gonna be taking you back to my place. Ok?”

“Can we stop and get cigarettes on the way?” The kid always had nerve.

Saul eyed the guard. “Yeah, that’s ok, right?” Saul crushed his empty coffee cup and threw it in the trash. The guard nodded. The police were following them back to Saul’s place for safety reasons.

After which, a debt needed to be reconciled.

 


	3. Wine, By the Books

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks goes to sodium_amytal for her beta help.

“So, that, my friend,” Saul gestured at the monitoring box, “is your line of freedom. Beyond that, for you, no man’s land. Most people who get lucky enough to get ankle jewelry have mansions they can retreat too.” Saul chuckled at the irony.

Jesse looked around. The law enforcement had left Saul and Jesse in a gated duplex mostly inhabited by old people. Good for keeping a low profile, Saul explained to Jesse on the way there.

“Can you pick up some booze and a carton of smokes?” Jesse asked as he shuffled to the kitchen area.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

Jesse opened Saul’s fridge door wide enough for Saul to see that it was empty.

Oh, Christ. I’m supposed to feed him too.

“Uh, yeah. I’ll grab some food when I get back.”

“I’ll make a list.”

Saul sighed inwardly at the prospect of having to take care of a bossy kid. Less domestic matters had to be discussed first. Saul grabbed one of his favorite tools from atop a cabinet. He leaned down and scanned Jesse’s monitoring bracelet. Next, he aimed it at the monitoring box. He went around the house again.

Saul came back to a mildly amused Jesse. “Paranoid, much?”

Saul boomed. “First thing- What are my rules again, Jesse? Keep your mouth shut-“

“Look, I didn’t tell the other guy anything different, Saul.”

“Ok. Listen, so the last time we saw each other...”

“Yeah, I punched you in the nose.”

“It’s still fucked.” Saul shoved the bug-tracker away.

“You’re still pissed about it?” Jesse sat on the couch.

“I don’t breathe as well anymore.”

“Well, I’m not still pissed about the cigarette. We’re even.”

“Ok.” Saul hid his dismay, not knowing what to make of that one. The logic of talking about settling debts seemed to fall apart at Jesse’s words.

“So my only implication to all this is that I might’ve helped Walter lift a cigarette from your pocket, unknowing that it was poisoned, and unknowing that it was to be used with the intent to kill Gus Fring. Other than that, my dealings with you have been strictly routine legal matters. Right?”

“Yeah, I didn’t tell the younger detective anything different.”

“That was Edwards. He’s a prick.” Saul laid his jacket across the couch arm.

“Edwards,” Jesse shifted on the couch. “I didn’t tell him anything to throw you under the bus. I don’t trust these guys anymore than I trust the guy who thought he was gonna profit off this case.”

Saul felt called out. He ran a hand through his hair like a cat preening away the shame of an ungraceful fall. Still, it was time to get down to the the brass tacks.

“What about the confession tape?”

“It was, like, an SD card. I had a chance to take care of it -- at some point. They don’t know that much. You’re good.”

“Ok.” Saul felt temporarily mollified. He remembered he needed to make a phone call. Saul looked at Jesse. Jesse looked like he had a shower at some point, but he still looked grungy. His eyes were clouded and blemished with dark circles underneath. “You look like you need a nap.”

Jesse chuckled, a harsh sound that could light a dry thicket. He licked his lips.

“Kid, do not even think-”

“No, I’m not gonna try and escape, Saul, chill. Look, I have nowhere to go.”

Saul nodded. “Okay.” He planned to keep his phone on him at all times, just in case.

“I need to be able to light up in here since I can’t go out into the porch.” Jesse propped his legs on the table and pointed at his bracelet.

“Off what velvet couch did your primadonna ass used to sit on? Prison is gonna be hard on you with that attitude. You can’t smoke in my rented establishment. Do you know what I had to do to get you bail?”

Jesse slid out a cigarette from his pack with ingrained ease.

“No, I guess you don’t. We still have a lot to talk about, like your mental state, or whatever.”

Jesse lit his cigarette with a flick of the lighter he pulled from his pants pocket.

“Hey!” Saul’s tone raised to shouting level. “You better crack open something.” Jesse stood and strolled over to the sliding glass doors.

Saul calmed down, but still eyed Jesse in disbelief. “I got to make a phone call.”

Jesse blew a stream of smoke out the cracked door as he surveyed the backyard scene.

Saul went to his bedroom and shut the door. He pulled out the matchbook from his pocket and dialed the number. He waited, not knowing what it was Skyler needed to talk about, but he could think of a dozen things. That made him nervous.

“Hello?” Her voice sounded smoky and wary through his phone’s earpiece.

“Skyler, it’s Saul. What’s up?”

“Saul, I was wondering if we could meet up and talk about the case-“

“Okay, hold on.” Saul cut her off. “Sorry, don’t mean to be rude, I’m in a rush.” Saul chuckled nervously. “Listen, can we meet at your place?”

“Sure.” Skyler paused. “Would this evening work?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess that could work.”

Skyler gave him the directions and they hung up. She was at a place across the street from a bar, the bar’s address printed on the matches. Saul checked the time on his phone. It was 5:37 PM. He should probably get going. He went into the bathroom, combed his hair, and put on aftershave before walking out into the living room.

“Hey, Jesse.” Saul reached for his jacket from the couch arm. Jesse turned around. “Listen, I might be awhile. I got a meeting. Do not go out that door, or any doors for that matter. If I get a call, it’s all on you.”

“Okay. Whatever.” His voice said it in an undertone. Jesse stuffed a hand in his pocket and cornered himself to face the scene beyond the doors, with posture desponded. The other hand holding the lit cigarette flung itself down.

Saul grabbed his keys. He pointedly didn’t look at Jesse as he headed out. Looking at Jesse made him feel like he was committing a criminal act of abandonment.

Finding Skyler’s place was easy, but he paused in the driver’s seat at the motel he parked nearby, telling himself that he is not nervous, even though he cannot move. He pushed himself out of the seat and shoved the door shut anyway.

“A motel, huh? So you’re far from town now?” Saul noted the smell of a freshly stubbed out cigarette as Skyler opened the door of room number 237.

Skyler managed a pleasant smile. “Yes.”

“You look good, Skyler.” Saul walked inside.

“Thank you.” Skyler shut the door behind him.

Saul noticed the bottle on the coffee table. “Monte Xanic, that’s a good brand.”

“I agree. Would you like some?” Skyler flustered over to the cabinets.

“Sure. I think we are going to need that.”

“I’ve already had a couple glasses.” Skyler confessed. She politely motioned for Saul to have a seat. Saul sat, his eyes lingering over her as she poured him and herself a glass of wine. She wore a dress that was too low-cut. She definitely had a strong motive here. Saul had always been impressed with Skyler. He wondered what she had been up to post-Heisenberg, if she had played everything smart. Women can get a little emotional at times like these. Skyler, however, did not seem to be one to take anything to chance, yet she carried an air of desperation in her nervousness. Maybe so did he. She moved with a carelessness from the wine, but she was sober enough to eye him with a shy curiosity.

“So how you long are you staying in town for?” Saul broke the ice.

“I don’t know yet.” Her reply secluded.

“How have investigations been treating you?”

“Relentlessly.” Skyler sat with a cautious guise, but she fidgeted, fingering her glass. “They ask a lot of questions. Make threats, sometimes.”

“Has it gotten better since they found him?” Saul took a twitchy swig of his merlot.

“So far.” She looked at Saul. “You look good. How have you been?”

“Fine.”

“Are you taking Pinkman’s case?”

“No.”

“Are you involved at all in it? In contact with him?”

“Excuse me for asking. Are you wearing a wire?”

Skyler pulled the sleeves of her dress back just far enough to show her bare breasts without revealing areolas. “No.” She said curtly.

Saul swallowed the lump in his throat and drank deeply from his glass. “It’s just these, uh, got these two detectives investigating me, well, probably just the one detective, trying to wrap me into this Heisenberg ordeal. Oh, and maybe money laundering fraud.”

“I’m sorry. Do you need help? I used to be a bookkeeper.” Her lips quirked faintly.

Saul laughed thickly. “Yes. I remember the sexy book keeper who wanted to play by the books, but wasn’t afraid to get dirty.”

Skyler looked at him pointedly. “I have to ask you some questions.”

“I figured.” Saul took another swig.

“Was Pinkman the last one to talk to Walt?”

“Yes.”

“What did they say?”

“They didn’t say anything as far as I know. Considering Walt had put a hit on him and he was made into a meth cook slave, I guess there wasn’t too much to say.” Saul hoped that wasn’t insensitive, but it was what Skyler needed to hear. “Let me ask you this, have you been talking to the detectives investigating the shootouts? Detectives Coy and Prick?”

“No. Should I be?” Skyler moved to refill her glass.

“My personal opinion is no if you want to stay out of more lines of questioning.” Saul added another thought. “Unless you feel your life is in danger, or if you’ve been threatened in any way.”

Saul saw the way Skyler clashed her wine glass against the table at his final words. The delicate stem cracked under the pressure. Wine spilled like a tidal wave as the water formed in her eyes.

“Skyler...” Futility for words prompted Saul to grab a rag from the counter and start mopping the red liquid. To see a woman breakdown like this was distressing for any guy.

Skyler came to. “I’m sorry.”

“What’s wrong?”

Words spilled out as if she had been keeping a secret a long time. “There were these masked men dressed in black who came to my house. I had no idea who they were.” Her confessions came out in choked and faltered words.

“I saw them stand over my baby...” Tears poured from her eyes. She grabbed the rag from Saul’s hand and dabbed her eyes. She breathed and attempted to maintain composure. Saul sat next to her and grasped her shoulders.

Skyler’s eyes were wide-eyed, earnest as she asked, “Were these men the same ones who Walt had killed? They mentioned if I had talked about a woman. I don’t know her name.”

Saul pondered a moment and typed something in his phone. “Jesse mentioned that Jack Welker’s gang were working for a Lydia. She was an executive for Madrigal. Here.” Saul pulled up a picture and showed her his phone. “There’s another corporate investigation going on. Is that the woman you saw?”

“Yes.” Skyler paused, staring at the picture, and then sighed. “That’s her.” Her voice still carried hesitance and suspicion.

“Well, she’s dead too.” Saul rubbed her shoulder, but she stiffened so he moved his hand away.

Skyler pulled herself up to get a fresh glass. “Just tell me this first and then I get to ask my next question. Are me and my family safe?” She stood by the counter and waited.

“I am the wrong person to be asking that. I wish I could tell you otherwise.” Saul said, feeling at a loss.

Skyler poured him another glass, which he gulped; grateful his buzz teetered from floaty to slacken.

Skyler sat next to Saul, her bare knee touching his. “Does Pinkman’s story on Hank’s death match?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” She looked at her glass with solemn acknowledgment. She drank until it was gone, with Saul following her lead. She reached across Saul, brushing her body against his clumsily -- though Saul found the movement stimulating -- to pour them both another glass.

Skyler sat back with a cigarette and brought it to her lips. She lit it and drew in, and then she blew out a long exhale of relief through trembling lips. Saul watched her while she did this, her hands, her lips, while he waited for the next question. Yeah, he was a pig.

She spoke with a careful measure of words after another exhale of smoke. “I need to know if Walt left us any money at all. Have you talked to Pinkman? Are you involved in his case? Can you find out anything?”

“Skyler, I wish I could help you, but I do not need to get in any more trouble than I am already facing. Anyone asking anyone questions about that money is treading in shark waters.”

\--

Jesse had a feeling when Saul left that he wasn’t coming back soon. Saul left Jesse one pack. Jesse stared at the last three cigs. Just enough to torture him.

Jesse began a restless prowl around the small house, stopping at the thermostat to check the time. He sighed his smoke at it. The time read 7:32 PM in the obscuring billow of fog. He looked at the pack again. Three cigarettes. One for each room in the house, save the bedroom.

He hadn’t left the screen door since Saul left, so he hadn’t really seen the place yet. He walked through the living room, taking another drag. A long suede couch was set with a coffee table in the front and an end table next to it. Jesse moved to the second bedroom down the hallway. A few piles of boxes in corners filled the rest of the mostly empty space. Even in the barren room, Jesse noticed traces of Saul’s presence, like where he touched objects. Saul left the empty closet door open, out of impatience. The tell tale sign being the door handle nearly ripped from its bolt while the other in pristine condition. Jesse gripped the loose knob as he smirked in amusement. Maybe Saul was checking for surveillance bugs there. Maybe Saul intended for this room to be an office.

A column of ash fell to the wooden floors as Jesse moved from window to window, scanning the alike duplexes that curved away from woods. Jesse thought it likely the ashes would -- and he didn’t mean to -- piss Saul off, but it was more convenient for Jesse. He felt a gradual return of his survival wits as fingers pulled apart flimsy blinds, felt hard floors under bare feet. He thought he had almost lost all his wits just days ago. This recovery of his tenuous connection to reality was something he needed, the cigarette a comforting companion.

There was a bathroom in the hallway. Jesse didn’t see the need to scrutinize his face in the mirror, just sort of notice that his beard was long and hot and scratchy. He checked around for an electric razor and found one in the mirror cabinet. He balanced shaving his face with smoking his next to final cig, flicking ashes in the sink.

 

_Detective Edwards put a hand on the back of Jesse’s chair. “Jesse, I know you’re suspicious of me now because I represent the police department. You’re suspicious of institutions. Neo-Nazis, drug cartels, the cops, the DEA. They are all institutions. You’re tired of being told what to do, right?”_

_“I’m tired of doing other people’s business. So fuck off, is right.”_

 

Jesse finished his patrol in the bedroom. Smoke coalesced from lips loosely wrapped around his last smoke. There was a closet, a nightstand, and a queen-sized bed. He sat on the bed and rubbed the bandages around his itching wrists. His shoulder ached and Jesse stretched his shoulder back to pop it. Pain and relief bloomed one after the other like the first bites of bliss of a shot of heroin. As he took another drag, something caught Jesse’s peripheral on the nightstand. A bottle of Xanax, well stocked.

Jesse’s panic grew as the cigarette waned with the doom of a crumbling ledge of ashes. He remembered the hospital, pondered what it all meant.

 

_When Jesse opened his eyes, he believed he was in some hell because Saul was sitting alone with him in some room. Alone, together, forever in some strange room? Despite his sluggish brain, his emotions were quick to revulsion at the idea. What room are they in? He blinks at what looks like a hospital room with blaring bright lights. It was oddly hot._

_“Saul?” His voice sounded like a limp fish desiccating in the sun._

_“Jesse, oh good.” The potential demon put away his reading material. “Let me tell you, you are not the cute one anymore. I think I am now.” Saul personally chuckled. Maybe he saw confusion on Jesse’s face because Saul continued his words of fast talking madness to Jesse’s feeble, straining brain._

_“Look, the last time we saw each other, I know it wasn’t on good terms.”_

_“Hu...” Jesse thinks he remembers, but his mental process is hazy. The anger Jesse feels towards Saul makes Jesse believe him._

_“Jesse, I know your thinking isn’t so on the ball now so I’m gonna be blunt.”_

_Jesse mentally tried to shake cobwebs from his head, but it was a slow nauseating carnival ride of an affair.”_

_“Now, you’re in for a ride here. I got a lot of info to dump on you.”_

_“Uh...”_

_“No, I am not Jesus. You’re alive, in case you’re wondering.”_

_Jesse stared, mystified and suspicious._

_“As for the bright lights, you’re not in heaven either. You’re in a hospital and bright lights are probably the last thing you want right now. You think they’d give patients some mood lighting with the pupil dilating drugs they give you guys.”_

_This Saul was totally reading his mind. Jesse’s mood softened into something less suspicious._

_“But the problem is the cops found you in some Indian reservation laying on a cot. You were found stranded in the desert on the verge of heat stroke. So no permanent damage health-wise.” Saul paused and rubbed his jaw. “However, there is the problem that you’re under arrest.”_

_Confusion clogged his staggered clarity. “Is that-- a bad thing?”_

_Saul chuckled. “Aw, you’re actually kind of cute when you’re all drugged up, uh- I mean on the hospital stuff.” Saul looked like he had just put his foot in his mouth. Jesse was struck by how funny the expression was and he would have laughed if he wasn’t on the verge of nodding out._

_“Anyway, the problem is why I’m here.” Saul’s final words before Jesse passed out._

The drug sunk Jesse into a cozy haze of sleep as the cigarette burned itself out.

\--

Broken glass, spilt wine, two empty wine bottles, and his wallet and keys laid strewn across the table. Saul smelled ash and vinegar in the air. The tinny sound of music played across the TV -- its screen was blank-- airy and percussive. His back was against a sofa with her body, warm and soft, laid next to his bare chest. She got her white silk dress draped over her and she’s curled with the delicacy and sorrow of a dying flower bud and it breaks his heart, like she’s gone too long without a connection with someone, anyone. She has a baby, he recalls. A son too. He wondered how old.

Saul wiped his face with his hands. He definitely felt a little hung-over. Wine was vicious. It fuzzed your brain and made you pass out and the next day you felt like you spent the night on a carousel. Gradually, he remembered last night’s events.

 

_Skyler pulled her knees up to her chest to curl her body to Saul’s. “I’ll help you.” She said, referring to his audit conundrum._

_Saul wanted to scoff and tell her that he had it handled, but truthfully, he was feeling a little lacking, no longer the former Saul Goodman he used to be. Besides, there was a plea in her voice. Her eyes had the innocence and vulnerability of a baby. A desperation was there for affection too. It tugged on all his right heartstrings. He wanted to take care of her._

_Saul, already drunk on Mexican wine, wanted to drink in the different comfort she was offering here. He knew she was manipulating him in this way, but he didn’t care. The seduction, the deception, the mystery was what a woman was all about for Saul. This might’ve contributed to the disaster that had been his love life._

_Skyler leaned in close, uncurling her body on Saul’s. Her breath was a bare wisp on his lips, the want of it to be a naked physical thing on his lips, her words in smoky, dulcet tones. "If you want me, I won’t say no.”_

_Already this angel had offered her good wine and her winsome femininity, and now she was a soundscape of promising words. Saul snaked an arm around her waist, finger splayed, enjoying the inches of her body. “Okay, I’ll ask the kid if he knows anything.”_

_She let out a contented sigh. The rise and fall of her chest distracted Saul, till she covered his mouth with hers and they kissed, a rhythm edgy with veiled resolution. His hand searched her lower._

 

Saul had to move before things started shifting. He stroked Skyler’s hair. She stirred at that, looked around, and rose up stiffly, her hair mussed. Sex hair, Saul mused.

She slipped her dress on. Saul sighed at the loss. Saul grabbed his shirt on the other side of the sofa.

“Coffee?”

“Oh, you’re an angel.” Saul took a moment to admire her as she went to the kitchenette. Saul checked his phone. It was 5:33 AM. He needed to sober up and get home. He had someone waiting for him. Another lonely soul, he was sure.

Saul’s mind kicked into gear fast enough to nearly flood it. Where’s the condom, or even a condom wrapper?

He searched the couch and hid his relief at an open wrapper, there between the cushions. Hoped he did well to disguise his momentary panic from Skyler.

He drove to his house before early morning traffic could get worse, he hoped Jesse was fine, but he had this Skyler situation to juggle in his mind too. He found no sight of Jesse once he walked through his front door. He tossed his jacket on the couch, and loosened his shirt. It was 6:24 AM according to the thermostat. Only dawn lit the house.

Saul found Jesse catatonic on his bed, his bottle of Xanax opened next his bottle of whiskey barely gotten into. Saul counted the supply and found that Jesse took enough to be knocked out into next day, depending on when he took them.

Momentarily panicked, Saul put his fingers to the hollow in Jesse’s windpipe, his beard now down to rebellious bristles. Saul felt the flutter of a pulse underneath cool skin. Jesse’s lashes did too at the touch, all showing signs of life.

“Jesse?” Saul shook him, to see if he could get more life out of him.

“Yeah?” Jesse’s head shot up, eyes flew open, red and bleary.

“Why?” Saul waved a pill at his slack-jawed face.

Jesse blinked and laid his head back down. “Hungry ran outta smokes nothing todo sorry pay you back ‘m straight money.”

Once Saul caught on to that slurred run-on of a mumble, he felt like the biggest douche. It was as if Saul neglected an abused puppy.

The kid sort of ate yesterday, on the way from the courthouse to Saul’s place. Saul grabbed a gas station sandwich, which Jesse threw up by the time they arrived.

“Aw, I’m sorry, kid.” Saul ran a hand through Jesse’s shaggy hair, but Jesse was already drooling on Saul’s pillow. Saul never had one of those pet things that you had to feed. The scars and healing bruises covering Jesse’s bare torso reminded Saul that the only reason Jesse was alive was that he did not take a bullet wound. Jesse was not bulletproof, despite his inclination towards skirting death. Saul let out an exasperated sigh, feeling enough guilt for the masses to pin another martyr to a cross.

“You really needed this many?” Saul mumbled at the inert Jesse.

It was only half past six in the morning. The sun casted its blue light through the cheap slats that passed for blinds. He could sleep a few more hours before dealing with a confounding Jesse.

Saul somewhat shoved, somewhat slid, Jesse’s deceptively heavy body closer to the edge, trying to be mindful of the fading bruises covering his bare torso After grabbing a couch cushion for a pillow, Saul laid down on the other side of the bed and shut his eyes.

To ignore his own protests in his head, the alleged, the denied, the confided, he thought of happy puppy dogs instead as he fell asleep.

 


End file.
